Drusilla Beyfus is beguiled by the painted tombs of ancient Egypt.

My thought was to explore the painted tombs of ancient Egypt, travelling to my destination in a manner that made one exceptionally glad the afterlife was on hold. I had long hankered after the sight of the paintings, an exquisitely coded language that invited exploration, and then a bonus was the aspect of revealed riches that had for so long thwarted attempts at discovery, a history that appealed to the Treasure Island side of my tastes.

Underneath, I hoped for a revelation of the ancient's approach to mortality and the eternal life, as I can't help but believe that the modern take on last rites suffers from a lack of spirituality.

As a dream ticket it proved achievable. The logistics were as follows: I took a cruise up the Nile from Aswan to Luxor aboard a dahabiyya - a simulation of a turn-of-the-century pleasure barge - dropping in on tombs and temples en route. Sailing the river fed into my main interest as I had had a preview of some of the natural history - birds, flowers, trees, as well as sailing craft - that was to reappear in the murals.

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First glimpse of my objective was at the Valley of the Kings, probably the most popular location for tomb-watching in Egypt. We arrived by tour bus at the towering sandstone cliff face of the Theban Hills, pitted with trap-like apertures that hinted at their history of secrecy.

Each entrance is marked by a modest board with the name of the ruler and a number. Had the interred been a prisoner, the style would have been appropriate. Another un­expected experience was getting inside the tombs in question.

I had imagined creeping down perilous steps in the darkness, flashing a small handheld torch to show the way, but in the majority of the sites I visited it was impossible to imagine being an amateur archaeologist bent on unearthing discoveries - convenient access had been laid on and torchlight (like photography) as a rule was prohibited on the grounds of protecting the paintings.

Descending flights of steps into the gloaming of one of the major tombs, that of Ramses IV (1140-1123bc), you are engulfed by phantasmagorical murals from floor to ceiling. They show myriad subjects; likenesses of the departed ruler, and a visual menu of what he considered necessary to ensure a safe passage in the afterworld - a form of protection against a bad trip.

It goes without saying that bigwig deities such as Horus are seen diplomatically to outshine depictions of the once living. To say the paintings fulfilled expectations is only half of it. I won't forget the solar barques bearing crocodiles and other strange cargo, or a ceiling adorned with a pair of sky goddesses stretched out against a sky of a blue so deep and resonant that it seems to have wholly escaped the palette of subsequent artists.

We owed a lot of enlightenment to our guide, a Nubian named Khalifa. He not only talked us through the history and meaning of the antiquities at the various sites on our itinerary, but also would answer our endless questions patiently.

We learnt that one shouldn't think of a royal tomb in the singular. It is in fact an underground habitat consisting of a series of chambers varying in size and configuration, probably depending on the status of the deceased.

Nor, as a rule, is the mummified body and sarcophagus that contains it placed in the painted chambers to which one has access. If extant, they may be sited in an area below the decorated spaces or in an adjoining but separate space, or be out of sight.

Our itinerary also encompassed the Valley of the Queens, the history of which is ripe with polygamy, concubinage and incest. (It is a misnomer as it has male rulers too.)

A subsequent visit with Jane Akshar, an independent tour guide, took me into the smaller, off-the-beaten-track but none the less fascinating tombs of Ay in the western Valley of the Kings followed by the tombs of the nobles Roy and Shu Roy. They were wonderfully free of people like us.

The complex archaeology, mythology and layers of cults involved in understanding the paintings is daunting, admittedly. Mysteries embedded in walls of hieroglyphics may well be read for their aesthetic content only. But one can cut through the iconography of the afterworld and pick up on much that strikes home.

Whatever else you learn, it is the importance that authority attached to being represented in an idealised form. No fat tummies, short legs or unimpressive profiles appeared in the likenesses that I saw.

Females are portrayed as slender, with high rounded breasts, graceful long necks and lovely features. They tend to be depicted in the act of giving, with hands outstretched. The male figures are strong and muscular but never beefy.

Costumes are exotic, and equally so for both male and female figures. Headdress for kings has a double crown symbolising the upper and lower lands in the country; the royals are portrayed in kilts tied with elaborate sashes, women in diaphanous robes often finely pleated, and both genders sport splendid jewellery.

Among the impedimenta that the ancients liked to take with them to the next world - the style of which hasn't changed since the days of the Pharaohs - are open sandals, necklets and ankle bracelets.

Spectacular as the paintings undoubtedly are in the tombs I viewed, many are essentially remains. So much is damaged and eroded. The causes are legion - rural environmental hazards such as the humidity resulting from the crush of visitors, pillage and plunder over the centuries among these.

In the Valley of the Kings only 14 of the 65 tombs were open to visitors during my visit and most travellers on mainstream tours find their access is limited to three. Nowadays some of the most visited sites have paintings under glass. A serious attempt is being made to control the numbers. In the Valley of the Queens, the celebrated tomb of Nefertari was available only to VIPs.

It is impossible not to be moved by the way in which these caves were created far away in the remote hills, cunningly hidden from the eyes of the most curious, and containing great worldly treasures. And much of it was inspired by the ancient world's belief in immortality and that if one played one's cards right with the gods, bodily resurrection might be among the rewards.

Sightseeing on land was dedicated and energetic. There were early starts from the boat so as to have one's walks and viewings in the cooler part of the day. Head coverings, shades and sunscreens were imperative, water bottle at the ready. In these circumstances, the Nile cruise struck a contrasting mood of relaxation, not to say indolence.

I was cruising on the Nesma (meaning 'breeze') on which it quickly became plain why well-to-do Egyptians at the turn of the last century fancied a trip on the river. Aboard the contemporary version, one is in something of a timewarp when lounging on the rattan, becushioned chairs on the sun deck, watching the landscape glide by.

There were six cabins for 10 passengers, each done up in the style of the period with 'antiqued' dark wood furniture, latticed wood screens on the windows, and lantern-type lights. Mod cons included realistic storage space, an efficient shower, washbasin and flush loo. There were very comfy beds. Weather permitting, breakfast, lunch and dinner was served beneath a canopy on deck at a shared dining table nicely set out.

The 10-man crew included a crack chef. If I was contemplating planning the decoration of my tomb, an image of chef just might have a spot. Beyond that, on the way home I noticed that the national Egyptian airline had as its logo an image of Horus, the falcon god, called on as protector.